


i want what i ask for (i get what i want)

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 01:03:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5648149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unpleasant assignment takes a sudden turn for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i want what i ask for (i get what i want)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SafelyCapricious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SafelyCapricious/gifts).



> This is a birthday fic for my dearest Mir, who is the Mirest Mir of all the Mirs, talented and fun and beautiful. A very very happy birthday to you, honey! I hope it's even half as spectacular and amazing as you are! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Title from The Neighbourhood's _Lurk_. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

After twelve hours spent hiking through the jungle, corralling wayward scientists, and protecting said scientists from the countless dangers to be found in said jungle, the absolute last thing Grant wants is to interact with anyone. Ever again.

Unfortunately, there are two weeks left in this assignment—or more; he’s got a sneaking suspicion it’s gonna be extended—so that’s out of the question. But he thinks the least he deserves is to be left undisturbed for the rest of the night.

Which is why the timid knock on his door (which _naturally_ comes thirty seconds after he lies down) has him just about ready to kill someone.

But he’s got a cover to keep, so he shoves down most of his irritation—his cover’s an uptight bastard, a little annoyance is fine—and makes sure his face is blank before he opens the door.

“Yeah?”

“May I have a moment, Agent Ward?”

Without waiting for an answer, his visitor—one Jemma Simmons, 21-year-old star of SHIELD’s biochemistry department and one of the least aggravating scientists on this little expedition—pushes right past him, into his room.

“Sure,” he says, dryly, to the empty hallway, before turning to face her. “What’s up?”

He’d really like to tell her to get lost, but he’s just the muscle on this op. For as long as they’re in the jungle—and as long as they’re not in danger—she outranks him.

“Close the door, if you please,” she requests, twisting her hands together nervously.

Okay, then.

Idly hoping she’s here to follow through on all those looks she’s been giving him, he pushes the door shut—then, at her pointed nod, locks it. He’s starting to get a little suspicious, here, but he’s got a foot and a significant amount of training on her; if she tries anything, he can take her.

As soon as the door locks, all signs of timidity fall away, and she draws herself up to (somehow, despite their differences in height) look down her nose at him. It’s actually more than a little adorable.

“Hail HYDRA,” she says flatly.

Ah. Well, that explains…absolutely nothing, actually.

“Okay,” he says, leaning back against the door. “Can’t say I saw _that_ one coming.” She’s so…bubbly and sweet. He wouldn’t have pinned her for HYDRA’s type. Of course, there _was_ that blistering and seriously condescending lecture she gave to Jenkins the other day… “What do you need?”

“I’ve revealed myself to you for two reasons,” she says, crossing her arms under her breasts. Combined with the phrase _revealed myself_ , it’s enough to have his mind wandering down some very pleasant paths. He reins it back in with reluctance. “First of all, I discovered something at today’s site which will be of interest to HYDRA, and I’d like to take another look at it tomorrow. I need your help arranging a distraction for Fitz so he doesn’t notice my absence.”

The two of them are pretty much joined at the hip—people call them Fitzsimmons and refer to them in the singular, for crying out loud—so that won’t be easy. Maybe a quick dose of artificial food poisoning? It’s worth looking into, at least.

“That won’t be a problem,” he assures her. Even if the food poisoning doesn’t pan out, Grant’s one of the best. He’ll think of something. “And the second reason?”

“Is much more important,” Simmons says firmly. “I’ve spent the last five months at this field base with no one but Fitz, Carver, Madeline, and an endless rotation of mostly uninteresting guards for company. And in the month leading up to this expedition, Fitz and I effectively quarantined ourselves, we were so busy preparing for it.”

Grant…has no idea where this is going. “And?”

“And, all of this means that it has been _six months_ since I had an orgasm from a source other than my own two hands.”  She gives him a sweet smile. “If you’re amenable, I’d like to change that.”

…Is she serious?

It takes his brain a second to reboot from the shock of that. Once it does, he pushes away from the door and closes the distance between them to loom over her, curious to see how she’ll react. He’s only ever interacted with Simmons as his cover, and if this isn’t a joke, he’s not fucking her as that guy—which means she needs to be clued in to the differences.

He’s a hell of a lot more dangerous, for one thing, and perceptive people like Simmons tend to pick up on that pretty quick. It scares them, sometimes, and while that doesn’t bother him at all—actually, he gets a kick out of being able to terrify people with a glance—he maintains a strict policy of not falling into bed with women who are frightened of him. Call it a quirk.

But Simmons doesn’t look scared. She tips her head back to meet his eyes evenly, and while hers are dilated, it’s definitely not from fear. Actually…huh.

“Mostly uninteresting, huh?” he asks, tracing the line of her jaw. Her throat works silently, and he smiles to himself. Yeah, this is definitely getting her going. “So what makes me different?”

“You’re prettier than the rest of them.” She’s trying to sound haughty, he thinks, but her voice is a little high for it—which might have something to do with his hand finding its way to her hip. The AC in this base is working overtime to compensate for the South American heat, and the chill of her skin bleeds right through her thin pajamas. Warming her up is a tempting prospect. “And I’ve observed that you’re quite practiced at following orders, which I do appreciate in a bedmate.”

He laughs. “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but the guy I’m _pretending_ to be is good at following orders. Me? Not so much.”

“Oh?” she asks, eyes narrowing. “Should I take that to mean you would ignore my wishes?”

“Not at all.” He might not be a good guy, but he’s not a _monster_. “I just respond better to begging than commands, that’s all.”

“I _don’t_ beg.”

“No?” he asks, amused by her disdain. “Bet I could make you.”

He doesn’t pull out _all_ of the stops for that statement, but he pulls out a few: lowers his voice, lets his hand slip under her shirt—not far, just enough that his thumb and index finger are resting on bare skin—puts some heat into his gaze. Just a little bit of encouragement to see things his way.

She hesitates, and he waits. He’ll be sorry if she decides against this—fuck knows he wants her, after spending the better part of the last month watching her walk around in her tiny shorts and tiny tank tops, bossing around guys twice her age and bouncing excitedly in the face of very deadly snakes—but he’s not gonna push it. Better to make this clear now; if she’s sleeping with him, she’s sleeping with _him_ , and he doesn’t take orders from bedmates.

Hell, he doesn’t take orders from much of anyone.

Still, he’s really hoping this doesn’t turn into a _no_. It was easy enough to ignore his attraction to her when she was just a protectee, but now that she’s walked right into his room and propositioned him…

After a long, nearly unbearable minute of silence, Simmons looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “What’s your forfeit?”

“My what?” he asks.

“Your forfeit,” she repeats. “What do I get if you _can’t_ make me beg?”

It’s unexpected enough to surprise a laugh out of him. Christ, she’s _cute_.

“Trust me,” he says, “I will.”

“But if you don’t?” she presses with an impish little smile.

As a teenager, Grant spent five years alone in a forest in Wyoming. Upon his return to civilization—if SHIELD can really be considered such—he celebrated by sleeping his way through half his class at the Ops Academy. That experience, on top of the series of classes—nicknamed the “Honeypot Sequence” by those in the know—that were mandatory for all of the cadets deemed attractive enough for seduction ops, left him with considerable skill in the area of pleasing a woman.

He can _definitely_ make her beg.

“Okay. If I haven’t made you beg by the end of the third round,” he says, “then I’ll follow any and all orders you give me for the rest of the night.”

“ _Third_ round?” she asks, eyebrows arching. “My, we are ambitious, aren’t we?”

“Been a while for me, too,” he says—not entirely honestly. It’s been a while since he had the freedom to be _himself_ with a woman, instead of his cover, and he absolutely plans to take advantage of this opportunity. “And if I win?”

“If you’re good enough to make me beg,” she says, still sounding skeptical, “then you can have the pleasure of my company tomorrow night, as well.”

He grins. “Sounds fair.”

“Yes, it does,” she agrees, and winds her arms around his neck as she pushes up onto her toes. “So, Agent Ward. Impress me.”

He starts by kissing her breathless, because he’s wanted to do that since his first day here, when she pursed her lips at him and Jenkins and demanded a blood sample from each of them for ‘reference purposes.’ It’s just as much fun as he imagined it’d be.

After that, he gets to the point.

The first round is about exploration, learning his way around her body as he kisses and bites his way down it. She gets a little whimpery while he’s lingering over her breasts, and she actually breaks skin clawing at his shoulders while he’s sucking on her clit, but she doesn’t beg during the first round. That’s okay; he wasn’t expecting her to.

No, the begging comes in the second round. Because in the second round, he knows exactly the right place to suck a bruise into the skin beneath her ear while he slips two fingers inside of her—exactly the right amount of pressure to use, rubbing at her clit as he bites ever so gently at her nipples. He knows to catch her wrists with his free hand before she gets impatient and takes over the job of making herself come, and he knows exactly how hard he can squeeze them—tight enough to make her cunt clench around his fingers in response—without hurting her.

In the second round, he knows how to drive her to the edge without pushing her off of it, and that—holding her there, so close to coming, building her up and up—does the trick.

“Please,” she says, squirming beneath him, “please please please, more, please, I need—”

“What do you need, sweetheart?” he asks, nipping at her jaw. He’s been painfully hard for what feels like hours now, but his honor’s at stake, here. “Tell me what you want.”

“Make—ah!” A flick of his thumb over her clit has her hips bucking, and with her head thrown back, the pale column of her throat is too tempting a target to resist. He sucks (another) hickey into it, enjoying her tiny whimpers, while she tries to gather the words she’s looking for. “Please, please make—ah! Ward!”

“Make what?” he teases, pulling his hand back a bit as she tries to grind down on it.

The way she whines in the wake of that movement proves what he’s always suspected, which is that he’s a complete and utter bastard. He’s okay with that.

“Make me _come_ , damn it,” she snaps—and then, as he starts to slip his fingers out of her, whines again. “ _Please_.”

“All you had to do is ask,” he says, and rubs _hard_ at her clit as he crooks his fingers just so.

Out of consideration for his neighbors—it’s a small base, after all—he covers her mouth with his, swallowing down her scream as she comes. She gets sensitive quicker after this orgasm, and it’s only a second or two before she’s shoving his hand away. He wipes it absently on the sheets as she collapses, panting, back against his pillows.

“So,” he says. “I’d say that counts as begging, wouldn’t you?”

Her laugh is breathless. “Yes, yes, you win. Very well done. I’m yours for tomorrow night, as well, then.”

He’s toying with the idea of making her his for a lot longer than _that_ , but there’s no reason to jump the gun here. Just because she’s hot and amusing doesn’t mean he should keep her.

For one thing, he still hasn’t properly fucked her yet.

“Ready for more?” he asks, once her breathing starts to slow.

“God, yes,” she says, smile incandescent.

After playing with her the way he has, he’s already pretty close to the edge, so this isn’t the time for a slow, teasing build up. He fucks her hard and fast, with the jarring kind of thrusts that would have the headboard banging against the wall if this bed _had_ a headboard. Simmons’ legs are so tight around his waist she might actually be leaving bruises, and—obviously still sensitive from her first two orgasms—she comes after the barest brush of his fingers over her clit.

This time, she muffles her own screams—by biting him, and her teeth sinking into his shoulder combined with the way her cunt clenches around him is enough to trigger his own orgasm.

It’s a damn good one, too; his vision whites out, and he doesn’t even realize he’s collapsed on top of Simmons until she digs her nails into his side.

“Fuck,” he says, rolling off of her. “I can’t feel my toes.”

“I can’t get mine to uncurl,” she says, patting his abs sympathetically. It turns into an absent kind of caress as she cuddles into his side. “If you want to do anything further tonight, I’m going to need a nap first.”

“Same here,” he admits. He’s not usually the kind of guy to go straight to sleep after sex, but it’s been a long and difficult day. He was exhausted _before_ she showed up.

She fits nicely under his arm, and he’s reluctant to move her, but if he doesn’t watch it he’s gonna fall asleep any second now. They could both do with some cleaning up before that happens.

So, unhappily, he nudges her away and rolls out of bed. It’s not until he’s climbing back into it—having cleaned himself up and bearing a couple of damp washcloths for her—that a thought strikes him.

“So,” he says, settling back in next to her. “Exactly what did you being HYDRA have to do with us having sex?”

“I’m sorry?” she asks.

“You said you revealed yourself to me because you wanted an orgasm—you’re welcome, by the way—but I still would’ve done this if I thought you were SHIELD.”

Well, not _this_ , exactly—for one thing he actually _would_ have followed orders—but the point remains.

“Well, I wouldn’t have,” she says. She looks around for a second then, with a little shrug, tosses the washcloths towards the hamper in the corner. They fall…endearingly short of it. “I only have sex with fellow HYDRA agents, and only those who know that I’m also HYDRA.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks as she cuddles back into his side. “And why’s that?”

“It only seems fair,” she says, “to make sure my partners are aware that I’m both willing and able to have them killed should they fail to satisfy me.”

Okay. That tears it.

“I am _definitely_ keeping you,” he laughs, pulling her closer.

“We’ll see,” she murmurs. “Rough sex is lovely, and you’re certainly talented in that arena, but sometimes a woman does prefer a gentler touch. It remains to be seen if you can measure up, there.”

“Oh, I can,” he promises. A little bit of creative maneuvering has the sheet from the bottom of the bed pulled up, and he covers both of them with it. “I’ll give you a couple hours to nap, and then I’ll gentle your socks off.”

Not that she’s wearing socks, but—whatever.

“Hm. I hope so,” she says.

(He totally does.)


End file.
